


Nightfall

by rxi19



Category: Nightfall (Original Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Trauma, Choking, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Angst, Grocery Shopping, Handcuffs, Hurt, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Trust, Nightfall - Freeform, No Sex, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Role Reversal, Trauma, Yandere, but like... mild hint, for now, invertedphantasgamoria, just hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxi19/pseuds/rxi19
Summary: You love me. You love me not. You love me. You love me not.Fate may take no prisoners, but I can't bear to let you go.One more night will fall upon us, and the morning will never dawn.
Relationships: Viktor Lucero/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> Viktor is from the in-progress game Nightfall (nightfallgame.tumblr.com), so please check that out if you have not!
> 
>   
> EDIT: ALSO Cesarinna was my WONDERFUL beta, please go check out her work. It's god-tier stuff.
> 
> fuck also join my damn discord: https://discord.gg/MyNtkAe

“No!” Viktor’s voice practically _dripped_ with petulance. 

You frowned, trying to pull your sleeve from his grasp. Viktor whined in protest, only tightening his hold as he yanked you into a tight embrace. His slight frame masked an uncanny strength—one that kept you trapped in his arms even as you struggled against him, jamming your elbows against his ribs in an effort to loosen his grip.

You snapped at him, nerves frayed. “Stop being such a baby, Viktor. I can’t fucking stay in the house forever.” 

“Why _not_?” Viktor complained, tucking his face into your hair.

At this point, you were beyond exasperated. The fridge was just short of empty, and your weekly grocery trips had already been postponed _thrice_ at Viktor’s insistence. You exhaled sharply, not bothering to mask your impatience. “We’re out of milk. And eggs. And flour. We’re even out of _canned beans_. I’m tired of living off of plain rice, okay? I’m not going to let us starve just because you’re whiny and jealous.”

The heartbroken look on Viktor’s face only irritated you more. Though such a look may once have swayed your sympathies, your recent diet of plain rice and water had taken a toll on your patience. With a final, particularly forceful jerk, you managed to break from his grasp, immediately running for the door. As he stumbled after you, frantically calling your name, you sprinted to your car, throwing a good-bye over the sound of its door slamming shut.

Viktor ground his teeth, suppressing his urge to run after you and force you to _stay_ , whether he had to beg or break your ankles to do it. The thought of causing you pain made his stomach twist in a horribly uncomfortable way, but the panic swelling in his chest was an all-consuming creature focused on only one thing: keeping you close to him at any cost. 

His knees buckled beneath him as he propped himself up against the door, instinctively trying to move toward you despite knowing you had already gone. The soft rumble of your car’s motor faded, muted by distance and the door. A cry tore through his body as he crumpled to the floor, fist pressed against his lips as if doing so would force his despair back down his throat until he couldn’t feel anymore. How could you just _leave_ him?

What if you never came back? What if he had unwittingly driven you away? Viktor suddenly regretted his insolence—who would want to come back to such an ungrateful boy? You had tolerated his antics for so long; the thought of having ruined it all over a _grocery trip_ made Viktor physically sick. His stomach churned, an acidic taste burning at the sides of his mouth. He was so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid.

Viktor felt terribly nauseous, and a strange dizziness began to fog his mind as your absence settled into his bones, chilling his blood and leadening his limbs. He could no longer imagine living without the attention you lavished on him, the soft, sweet way you loved him… He didn’t _want_ to imagine living life without you―what good was his beating heart if you weren’t around to hear it?

Did you still love him?

You had to. You _had_ to. You couldn't _not_ want him anymore—that was unthinkable. Viktor's breath quickened, his thin cries faltering as his heartbeat pounded out an unsteady staccato. His fingernails pressed burning crescents into his palm, the angry red marks matching those that he'd bitten into his bottom lip. You had to come back. There was no other option.

He couldn't bear the oppressive silence any longer. Fingers trembling violently, Viktor fumbled with his phone, tapping frantically until he found your contact information. His hands were still trembling as he pressed the device to the shell of his ear, anxiety worsening with every uninterrupted ring. Viktor curled into himself, feeling pitifully small against the cold expanse of the front door.

"Hello?" 

Viktor nearly melted in relief. Fuck, you couldn't be irreperably upset if you were still willing answer his calls. With little coherent thought, he began babbling tearful apologies. "Please—Please forgive me, I… I didn't mean to be insolent. Please come back. _Please_ . I'm going crazy, I know it. I really—I really didn't mean to be so rude, I'll be better! Promise. Cross my heart. Please, _please_ just come back. I don’t want… I can't… I don't know what to do. You need to come back _right now_ —"

"Stop talking." Like a good boy, Viktor shut his mouth, breathlessly waiting for you to continue. He pressed his phone tightly to his ear—a subconscious effort to push himself closer to you, to your voice, to anything that would fill the emptiness that your departure had left within him. You sigh, the sound soft and tinny over the line. "I haven't even gotten to the supermarket, Vik. I'm just getting groceries, and I’ll be right back after. Go to the bedroom and wait for me, okay? I'd tell you to get something to eat, but we have no _fucking_ food. Just… Look, we'll talk when I get home."

As Viktor readied an eager response, the line went dead. The poor boy's excitement soured like milk in the summer sun, simmering at his core like spoiled cream. He let his phone clatter to the floor as tears welled up in his eyes once more, blurring his vision as he stumbled to his feet, lurching toward the bedroom.

You wanted him to wait in the bedroom, so he would. He would follow your directions perfectly, and then you would call him a good boy—and you wouldn't leave a good boy like him, right? You said you loved him. You _promised_ you loved him. You could not go back on your word, not while he still lived and breathed.

Determined to prove his devotion to you, Viktor hurried to prepare himself for your return. You had said that it would only be groceries. Only a couple of items. He could wait for you while you got groceries. No problem. He could do that.

Viktor made a beeline for the bottom drawer of the dresser, fingers clumsy as they clutched at its contents. A collar. The crisp, dark leather was soft against his palms, the metal clasp jarringly cold. He stood to examine his reflection in the mirror hanging above the dresser, lifting the collar to his throat and narrowing his eyes. The boy staring back at him, collar pressed to his neck, was not one Viktor recognized. You had purchased the collar a while ago, but Viktor had never managed to gather the courage to let you put it around his neck. He frowned.

His fit had swollen his eyes and reddened his nose, and he felt about as attractive as a drunken circus clown. He didn’t want to put the collar on yet, anyway—you should be the one to buckle the collar around his neck. Especially considering it would be his first time, donning it without you seemed worse than blasphemous. Viktor allowed his gaze to drop from the mirror to the floor. He looked _disgusting_. No wonder you had been so desperate to run. 

Fear rushed into him once again, flooding his head with static and his limbs with fire. You had left. Gone. He would wither without your attention—even if you wanted nothing but to beat him and scar him and rip him to shreds, at least it would keep you with him. Touching him. Thinking about him. Feeling things for him, letting him make you happy, letting him cling to you. If you were gone—

Viktor refused to let himself finish that train of thought. 

The boy slumped to the ground, collar clutched in his hands. He let himself fall forward, forehead thudding against the cool floorboards. Fuck. He needed to make you stay. You’d told him you wanted him—you’d _promised_ . You wouldn’t go back on your word. He wouldn’t _let_ you break your promise.

A muffled cry left his mouth as he felt your absence even more strongly. It was a withdrawal that would never end—not with time, not with treatment, not with anything but your love. Your love, your voice, your scent, your touch. God, he fucking missed you.

A numb fog began to flood Viktor’s consciousness, numbing his senses. The dreadful feeling was horribly familiar; prior to meeting you, it had been his primary state of existence. Viktor had grown far too accustomed to the warm lucidity your company granted him—so much so that returning to such a colorless state seemed a grievous thing indeed.

Soon enough, even those worries faded away, slowly reduced to nothing more than a distant echo housed in the recesses of his mind. Time seemed to dissolve, leaving him alone in his head, only dimly aware of the collar still clutched in his hands.

* * *

You returned from your trip looking as if you had raided a small grocery store which, admittedly, wasn’t too far from the truth. Transporting the goods indoors took a total of four round trips, followed shortly by a couple minutes of restocking and reorganizing the newly purchased supplies. You frowned as you tucked the cereal boxes away, afraid that Viktor would approach you with the same fervor as he had earlier this morning. As you moved about the kitchen, you cast furtive glances over your shoulder, carefully listening for his footsteps. 

That fear quickly melted into a wary apprehension as you realized that Viktor had yet to come greet you. Normally, even minutes of separation warranted excessive attention upon your return, and you had been out for nearly an hour. Viktor refused to eat or sleep without you, so you knew he was almost definitely still awake. The hum of the refrigerator quieted as you shut its door. You ventured out of the kitchen, checking the adjacent rooms to see if Viktor had gotten himself in some sort of trouble. No dice.

The bedroom was the last room that you checked. You dimly recalled suggesting he wait for you in the bedroom and surmised that he had taken the suggestion as an order. Though impulsive and incredibly overbearing, Viktor was, at heart, unwaveringly obedient and always desperate to prove that he was worthy of your love. 

“Viktor,” you called, rapping your knuckles against the door. No answer.

Growing worried, you allowed yourself in, hoping your knocks had provided an adequate warning. Your eyes scanned the room, grazing over an empty bed and a couple unoccupied chairs and cushions. Then, your gaze snapped downward.

Viktor was kneeling before the door, forehead pressed to the floor as if in prayer, body trembling like gelatin. His complete disregard toward your entrance sent dread sliding into your gut and up into your chest, squeezing your lungs until you were barely able to breathe.

Regardless of circumstance, your boy was never one to sit still, especially in your presence. The boy on your bedroom floor was a stranger to you―a stranger who refused to acknowledge you, even as you dropped to your knees beside him, softly calling his name.

You slowly extended your hand, moving as if you were approaching a frightened mouse. Careful not to startle the trembling boy, you let your hand drift toward his downturned face, wondering if your touch could rouse him from his stupor. 

Two fingers brushed against his cheek.

The contact lasted less than a second as Viktor jolted upright, falling back as if electrocuted. His eyes were wild, pupils swallowing his irises like twin black holes. Viktor’s face was twisted in an anguished expression, eyelashes salted with tears and philtrum wet with snot. Startled, you froze, no more able to move than a frightened rabbit.

_Should I try to reach out again?_

Before you could make the decision, Viktor’s eyes snapped to your face, shining with an alarming clarity. A loud wail tore itself from his throat as he launched himself into your motionless body, knocking you to the ground in his fervor.

“You― You’re back,” Viktor bawled, dissolving into a mess of babbled pleas, his stream of words interspersed with reverent murmurs of your name. Overcome with a deep wave of relief, Viktor let himself curl into you, the weight of his body pinning you to the wooden floorboards. Still trembling, Viktor allowed his head to drop, nosing against the crook of your neck like a frightened mouse. His soft breath tickled against your throat. “Please… Never leave me again, _please_. I’m sure I’ll die, I know it. I… I’ll behave. I swear I will. But― But don’t leave anymore. No… No more. Please, I’ll be good―”

His mouth snapped shut as you shushed him, the earnest look on his face belying his eagerness to obey. You grimaced, knowing that you would soon have to burst his bubble. You muster the breath to speak. “Could you… Let’s sit up, okay? My back is starting to hurt.”

Immediately, Viktor scrambled off of your body, tongue alight with fresh apologies. He rocked back to sit on his knees as you stood, allowing his head to drop against your thighs. A soft, contented noise slipped from him as he looped one arm around your legs.

“I’ve really missed you,” Viktor murmured, pressing a kiss to your thigh, With a reluctant sigh, he allowed himself to lean back momentarily, revealing that he had his collar in his hands. You had put it away so long ago that you struggled to remember where it had come from. Viktor swallowed as he offered it up to you, lips parting as he prepared to speak. “I… I know I said I didn’t wanna wear it, but I want you to put it on me now. I trust you. I… I’m not scared. I’m yours… Mistress. I don’t want you _ever_ to forget that. I’m… I’m ready.”

Viktor’s hopeful smile widened as you took the collar from his pliant fingers, the leather already warmed by his hands. His doe-like eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his chin to the side, baring his slender neck in anticipation. 

They snapped back open as the collar thunked against the top of the dresser. Didn’t you love him? Didn’t you want him? Why did you put the collar down? Why didn’t you want to collar him? Viktor’s accusatory gaze sought yours, but you glanced away, unable to withstand the weight of his distress.

A shake of your head stoppered the river of complaints threatening to escape his lips, but there was no halting the tears already welling in his eyes. Nevertheless, you pushed on.

“Viktor, I think we really need to talk―at least before we try anything else,” you said, adopting as authoritative a tone as you could muster. The compassion that Viktor’s distress had inspired was beginning to fade, leaving you unsympathetic to the betrayed look he bore. Even as Viktor’s face began to cloud over, bottom lip trembling, you pressed on. “I… We both know that this isn’t a healthy way to live, Vik. You always promise to respect my space, and yet you refuse to allow me basic outings alone. I’m―”

“No,” Viktor interrupted, eyes shining with fresh tears. With an uncharacteristic ferocity, he snatched the collar from where you had set it down and forced it into your fingers, pulling your hands toward his throat. He tightened his grip as you tried to pull away, frantically tugging at your arms. “No. _No_ . I don’t want to talk, Mistress. I want you to collar me. And you want to collar me too, I know it! You promised I’d always be yours. You _promised_ , so _do it_! Now!” 

Not heeding your demands for his cessation, Viktor clumsily guided your unwilling hands to buckle the collar around his throat. Your warm hands around his neck felt like heaven. Too caught up in his fantasy to heed your protests, Viktor allowed himself to sink into a world of his own―one in which you were sweetly buckling a collar around his neck of your own accord. 

The cool leather rasped against the soft flesh of Viktor’s throat, sending a euphoric shiver down his spine. This was the first time that Viktor had so eagerly accepted touch against his neck. He always expected _pain_ . The memory of fingernails against his windpipe, cold hands against his throat, harsh words against his gasps for air. Static in his vision, fire in his lungs, and never, _never_ forgiveness. 

But there was none of that with you.

It was proof that he was meant to be yours just as you were meant to be his. Now happily collared, Viktor let go of your hands, opting instead to loop his arms around your legs. He tilted his cheek against the curve of your hip, looking up at you with an adoring gaze. His face was flushed and his lips curved in a soft smile, painting a picture of a young man in love.

Perhaps, a month ago, such a look would have held sway over your heart. Perhaps you would have swallowed your complaints and set your concerns aside, happy to indulge his whims. Perhaps, then, you would have been happy to let his poor behavior slide. 

That was then. 

That was before he deleted your contacts, before he hid your car keys, before he tried to convince you to quit your part-time job. That was _before_ grocery shopping became a topic of contention. That was _before_ he forced you to collar him, denying you a proper conversation in lieu of his own gratification. You gritted your teeth, steeling yourself even as Viktor nudged at your hip with his cheek, the perfect picture of a well-behaved boy. He squawked as you pushed his head away.

“Viktor, stop.” You forced yourself to utter a slew of empty reassurances, attempting to preemptively soothe his oncoming tantrum, all to no avail. New tears beaded in his eyes, threatening to spill onto his cheeks. Pressing on, you tried to explain. “I’m not mad, okay? I’m not going to break up with you or anything. I just― I just think we really need to talk about how you… How you treat me. I guess.”

Viktor froze, eyes glued to your face. His face clouded over as he considered your request, lips nearly white as they pressed together. Your soft sigh seemed to snap him from his stupor. He blinked, wetting his lips as he tightened his grip on the back of your thighs. His voice, though soft, was surprisingly strong. “No. I don’t want to talk. I missed you, Mistress. We can talk later, right? If… If I’ve been bad, you can punish me. You can hurt me, Mistress! I―I don’t mind, as long as you’ll be happy with me. I’ll be a good boy. _Your_ good boy. I… I need you. _Now_.”

Before you could protest, he ducked his head under your skirt, letting his tongue brush against your inner thigh. His submissive whimpering was disconcerting to hear, especially as his hold on your thighs tightened, no more forgiving than iron shackles would be. 

In an attempt to dissuade him, you reached down to grab Viktor’s hair, trying to pry him away from your leg as a swimmer would a leech. Unfortunately, it only seemed to motivate him further, each harsh tug drawing a series of obscene noises from the boy. It was no easy feat to pull him from under your skirt, but, with considerable force, you managed to do so. You were met with the face of a man delirious with want, eyes half-lidded and lips gently parted. He whined as his gaze met your own, attempting to bury himself back under your skirt.

“Viktor!” Your tone was sharp, almost scalding. Viktor paused, dissuaded by the irritation coloring your voice. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at it as he awaited instruction. Perhaps you would order him onto the bed? Or maybe you wanted him on your lap. Or maybe you’d order him to undress you with only his mouth and―

You ripped yourself from his embrace, taking advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration. Viktor nearly fell face-first in his attempt to recapture you, lunging in what he hoped was your general direction. By the time he managed to reorient himself, you had scrambled onto the bed, eyes narrowed in Viktor’s direction. Looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, he shuffled toward you, whining as you flinched. 

Were you scared of him? 

Viktor was no stranger to your anger, and he was always happy to weather his punishments to win his way back into your good graces. He could atone for being irritating, but this? You had never looked _scared_ before. Good boys couldn’t _scare_ their mistresses―especially if they were already as troublesome as he. 

His eyes remained glued to your face as he took another step toward the bed, gut twisting as you instinctively inched away. You hated him, didn’t you? He’d finally managed to screw up so badly that he couldn't fix it. His mind spun. No. No, no, no, _no_ , _no_. His instincts demanded that he apologize, prostrate himself in front of you and beg until you forgave him. He wished you would beat him, curse him, starve him… as long as he could be yours, as long as you still wanted him. As long as he could still be yours.

Tears beading anew, Viktor dropped to his hands and knees, limbs trembling as he crawled pathetically toward the bed. Your patience, love, and attention―he had taken it and thrown it back into your face. To think that it would be his own selfish actions that drove you away… 

Viktor stopped about a meter from the edge of the bed, slowly wilting under your harsh, steady stare. He swallowed, searching for the right words―he wanted you to smile at him again and pet his hair and compliment him like you used to. Not… Not _this_. With every passing second, the weight of your apprehensive gaze seemed to make it more and more difficult to breathe. 

“I… Mistress?” Viktor’s voice was thin. Timid. He needed to show you how _sorry_ he was, somehow. He needed to show you that he wanted to do better. That he could be a good pet for you—the only one you'd ever need. He let himself settle into a kneeling position, head tilted up in a poor imitation of reverence. He swallowed before speaking in a soft, shaky voice. "I'm sorry. I'll be good from now on. I… I know I was being immature and bad. I'm sorry—I'm sorry for being such a baby. I… But I'm _your_ baby, right? I promise I'll be your good boy. I won't be mean ever again. Please… mommy?"

Viktor’s face burned as the words left his mouth. In a futile attempt to hide his reddening face, he turned his face away from yours, exposing his collared neck in a subconscious gesture of submission. Having failed to win your affection asofar, Viktor was beginning to panic. He chanced a nervous glance in your direction, hoping for something other than fear. Something other than distaste. He licked his lips, slowly gathering the courage to speak again.

“I… Mommy, I’m sorry.” Viktor dared to look up at you, hoping to see your cold expression soften. Nothing. Cheeks still wet with tears, he tried again, leaning forward in a beseeching manner. “Please forgive me, mommy. I don’t… I don’t like it when you’re unhappy with me. I just want to be good for you again. I can do it, I—”

“What are you sorry for?” You spoke in an unnaturally controlled tone. Viktor froze, bottom lip trembling as you waited for an answer. When none came, you sighed, casting a disappointed look in his direction. “Yeah. Thought so. You don’t even know what you did wrong, do you? As long as you get what you want, you’ll say anything, right? I’m disappointed in you, Viktor. Disappointed, but not surprised.” 

“No, don’t say that!” A new wave of tears burned at Viktor’s eyes as he frantically shook his head, wracking his brains in an attempt to list out every mistake he’d made today. He began to babble. “I’m sorry for fighting you when you wanted to get groceries, and… and I’m sorry for whining when you came home, and I’m sorry for making you collar me, and I’m sorry for holding you without your permission, and… I’m sorry, I really am, mommy! Don’t be mad anymore. I’ll… I’ll be good. Promise! Punish me, _please_ , I—I deserve it. Just… Mommy, please don’t be mad. Please!”

Once again overcome by an inhuman desperation, Viktor scrambled onto the bed with all the grace of a panicked opossum, making a beeline for your legs. He uttered apology after apology as he pressed feverish kisses to your hips and stomach, the weight of his body pinning your legs to the bed. 

Too stunned to form a coherent rebuttal, you growled and dug your fingers under his collar, yanking his head away from your body. While you hadn’t been too happy about being forced to collar your boy, it provided you a modicum of control. Viktor gasped for breath as he sat up, fingers flying up to flutter against his throat.

“Why the _fuck_ are you on me?” Your voice was loud, unforgiving. Were you scared? Angry? You weren’t quite sure anymore—the adrenaline coursing through your veins was muddying your emotions. You let go of his collar as you kicked your way out of his grasp. As Viktor fell back, eyes wide, you scooted off the bed, backing toward the door. In a low tone, you issued an order. “Don’t follow me, Viktor. I don’t want to see your face for a while.”

“But…” Viktor’s soft protest went unnoticed as you fumbled with the doorknob. His eyes burned as if touched with hot pokers, unable to produce any more tears. _You were leaving him._ A hot pulse of fear shot through his veins, rousing him from his immobile state. Viktor trained his gaze on your face as he righted himself on the bed. You were pulling it open. 

For a moment, it seemed as if you were pausing to reconsider. Perhaps you would turn back to him and tell him it was but a poorly timed joke. You’d call him a good boy, run your fingers through his hair, reassure him that you would never really leave—

Before he could fall any deeper into his fantasy, the door slammed shut behind you, sending a fresh wave of adrenaline rushing through his body. Fuck. _Fuck_ . Viktor bolted from the bed and lunged for the door, adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream as he heard your footsteps quicken. He couldn’t let you go—he could make it better. He would _force_ things to be better. He… He would make you love him again. He could fix it, but not if you left. 

“Wait,” Viktor screamed, nearly slamming against the wall in his haste. As you began to sprint toward the front door, the electric distress coursing through his body intensified. Before he could contemplate his next move, he heard the telltale _snick_ of the lock guarding the front door. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Feeling no more in control of his own actions than a strung-up marionette, Viktor stumbled around the corner, crying out as you began to fumble with the doorknob.

With uncharacteristic speed, Viktor sprinted toward you, throwing his body against the door in his fervent need to prevent you from leaving. You stepped back, startled, as the doorknob was ripped from your grasp. 

“Viktor, what the hell are you doing?” you demanded, stepping back as he tried to grab your hands. You scowled as he wilted under your harsh gaze, only growing more frustrated as he started to babble his excuses. “Stop. Stop it. I don’t want to hear it right now. Move. Get out of my way, Viktor. You’ve been impossible lately, and now I can’t even get a single moment alone? If you’re trying to win forgiveness, _baby boy_ , you’re going about it in the _worst_ fucking way.”

You paused for breath, eyes dropping from Viktor’s face to his neck. Overcome with anger, you grasped at his collar. Your voice was low when you spoke. “You know what? Take that off. Take the collar off, now.”

Viktor’s hands instinctively flew to his neck as he gasped, heart sinking like a stone. You didn’t mean it. You _couldn’t_ mean it. He froze, fingers curled over the collar like a protective shield. Possessed by a sudden courage, you began to tug at Viktor's hands in a clear attempt to access and remove his collar. After a brief struggle, you managed to get one hand on the clasp. Ignoring his loud cries of protest, you unlatched the collar.

Silently, the collar slipped off.

With an inhuman cry of anguish, Viktor lunged forward, delicate fingers flying to your throat. Lost to the frenzy in his own head, Viktor could barely feel the flesh of your throat as it bruised under his fingers. The fibres tethering him to the present snapped in tandem with the capillaries under your skin, redness blooming across your skin while black patches flowered in his vision. 

Feeling as if he had been dosed with a toxic cocktail of painful emotions, Viktor heaved, retching as he gagged on his own sobs. On instinct alone, he squeezed his hands together, too caught up in his own head to heed your breathless pleas for air. Consumed with a hopeless feeling of emotional desolation, Viktor didn’t notice when your limbs slowed in their thrashing, your breath wheezed to a choked halt, your eyelids fluttered shut… 

It was the chittering of a squirrel outside the window that brought him back.

Viktor gasped as he came to life, jerking his hands back as if the red bruises ringing your neck burned against his skin. He clumsily shifted off your body, his distress forgotten in the panic of seeing you motionless beneath him. 

Soft, nervous calls of your name slipped from his lips as he shook you by the shoulders, cringing as your head lolled like that of a doll’s. Viktor fretted over your unconscious body. As he fussed with your body, pushing you this way and that, a familiar band of leather slipped from beneath your unconscious form, catching his eye and stilling his hands.

Oh.

Viktor allowed himself to slip the collar into his pants’ pocket with shaking hands before returning his attention to your motionless body, still resting before him. A strange sense of clarity settled over him as he let his gaze drift toward your sleeping face. Biting back a creeping sense of shame, Viktor began to drag you back toward the bedroom.

* * *

Your throat fucking hurt. You swallowed as you tried to reorient yourself, wincing at the resulting pulse of pain. Cottony static clouded your field of vision as you blinked. As you tried to assess your situation, your hand moved toward your neck, hoping to soothe the pain.

The rattle of metal snapped you to your senses.

Immediately more lucid, you moved your hand toward your throat once again, only for a cold resistance to halt its progress once more. A heavy dread slipped into your gut, settling at the pit of your stomach like an overfed python. The mattress dipped underneath you as you tried to move, springs creaking as you tested your bonds.

Before you could take the time to examine your surroundings—were these the handcuffs you’d used on Viktor last night?—the door swung open, flooding the room with a yellow light. Viktor stood, silhouetted in the doorway, cringing as if expecting an outburst of anger.

When none came, he tentatively edged forward, approaching the bed with the demeanor of a puppy who knows they misbehaved. You stared at him, still attempting to process your apparent captivity. Mistaking your silence for acceptance, Viktor mustered a shaky smile and reached out to cup your face.

His fingers brushed against your cheek.

With an angry snarl, you whipped your head around and sank your teeth into his hand, refusing to let go even as he wailed. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t attempt to yank his fingers from your mouth. Instead, he settled himself on the bed, tucking his knees under him as you ground your teeth against his fingers in an attempt to dissuade him.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” you demanded, finally allowing his fingers to drop from your mouth. The boy whined as he pulled his injured hand to his chest, staring intently at anything but your face. You jerked against your handcuffs, drawing his attention to your sore wrists. You growled, frustrated. “Viktor! Answer me!”

“Mommy…” he whimpered, trying to get as close to you as he could while staying out of biting distance. He allowed his gaze to flit over your face but quickly looked away, flinching at the murderous expression you cast his way. You grimaced.

“Don’t you fucking ‘mommy’ me. What did you do?” you asked, volume rising. You fight against your bonds, pausing to scoff as Viktor cringes. “What are you flinching away for? I can’t do anything to hurt you, even if I wanted to. And trust me—I want to.”

Viktor sniffled, appearing for all the world to be an angel without wings. He reached out, hesitantly touching your knee. Lips pouted prettily, he looked up through his lashes, sending you a beseeching look. He trembled as he spoke. “I… I’m sorry, mommy. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t! I swear. But… But you tried to leave, and you promised you’d never leave, and I couldn’t understand why mommy wanted to break her promise, and then—”

He broke off as he raised a shaky finger to gesture at your neck. Viktor couldn’t bear to look at the marks he had left around your pretty neck. He didn’t _deserve_ to look at you, not after how he’d hurt you. He didn’t deserve to have you, but he did, and he was far too weak to let you go. 

Suddenly struck by the absurdity of your situation, you allowed a disbelieving bark of laughter to escape. Clearly startled, Viktor looked up, only to find that you had turned to stare at the wall. Overcome with anxiety, the boy scooted toward you, pressing himself into your side as if he were a needy pet, sagging with relief when you didn’t flinch away.

“Viktor, pet, what has gotten into you?” you ask, tone uncannily light. You turned your head toward the boy snuggled against you, clicking your tongue as he looks away. Something popped in your shoulder as you shrugged, a simple testament to the impracticality of your new position. Viktor cringed at the sound, and you laughed. “What are _you_ flinching for? It’s not as if _I_ choked _you_ out and then cuffed you to the bed against your will.”

Viktor looked very much chastised as he shrank into himself, casting his gaze aside again. He fiddled with the edges of his shirtsleeves as he tried to think of something to say. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each not willing to look at the other. A quiet sob broke the tension.

“Don’t be mad anymore,” Viktor begged, throwing his arms around you as a fresh wave of tears began to bead in his eyes. His words were punctuated with a soft, heartbroken wail as he buried his face in your shirt, clinging to you even as you tried to shift away. Viktor’s pleas were regularly broken by hiccuping sobs, but he pushed on. “Please, I don’t want you to hate me. I… You can choke me out too! I promise I’ll take it—I just want to be your good boy again. _Please_ don’t be mad anymore.”

Ignoring the twinge of sympathy in your chest, you gritted your teeth and tried to dislodge yourself from his grasp. Stubborn as a barnacle, he clung on, still weeping and babbling his apologies. You began to thrash in his grip, kicking out with your legs in an attempt to dislodge him. Viktor retched as your knee connected with his stomach but refused to move away.

“Yes! Please, hurt me,” Viktor croaked, turning his puffy face toward yours with a wobbly smile. He pressed himself against you, sniffling as you shuddered and leaned away.

“Hurting you won’t make me forgive you,” you snapped, jerking your head away as he tried to press a kiss to your chin. You turned your gaze to him, pinning him with a venomous glare. “This isn’t just some _game_ , Viktor. You’re keeping me trapped against my will, like some sort of psycho. You hear that? You’re a fucking—”

“Shut up!” Viktor screamed. His tear-glazed gaze flew to meet your own, his body trembling harder than a leaf in a hailstorm. You stared at him in stunned silence, limbs falling still. Suddenly, Viktor’s hands flew to cover his mouth, and he paled in horror. With a loud wail, he buried his face into your shoulder, hands clutching at you once again. “I—I didn’t mean that! I’m sorry, I’m—I’m sorry, mommy! I didn’t mean it, I swear!”

Why did you want to comfort him? 

The urge was laughable, really. Even if you were inclined to do so, it would prove to be difficult while your hands cuffed to the bed. You allowed your mind to drift, even as Viktor continued to weep into your shoulder. How was he going to explain this to your manager? Your family? Friends? He couldn’t keep this up forever, after all.

“Viktor,” you said, voice soft. Encouraged by the sweetness of your tone, he looked up at you, tears still swimming in his hopeful eyes. He dared not move a muscle, as if convinced that any stray movement would invoke your wrath. You sighed, too irritated at the sight of him to meet his gaze. “Viktor, why? What is this supposed to do? Are you so selfish that you don’t care for my happiness, as long as you get what you want?”

“No—No, I just thought…,” Viktor stammered, trailing off as the weight of his guilt settled heavily onto his shoulders. He brought his knees to his chest and hid his face, a wave of shame washing his face red. His soft lips pinched into a frown as he swallowed his protest. What _was_ he doing? “I’m sorry, Mistress. I… I just don’t know what I'd do without you, and… and you were mad at me. I just wanted to be with you.”

You sighed again, before shifting your body to alleviate some of the strain on your arms. It was hard to take the boy seriously when he looked so small, so unassuming. Viktor sniffled into his knees, earning himself a tired glance. Keeping your voice low, you spoke again. “I understand that you’re scared, Vik, but this is insane.” You pulled at your bonds. “This isn’t doing anything. This is crazy. And, honestly, I think you know that. Come back to me when you’re thinking clearly, Viktor.”

Wary of your unexpected calmness, Viktor chanced a look at you. You had tucked your head against the headboard and closed your eyes, evidently tired of Viktor’s fretting. Viktor wasn’t sure if he liked this kind of peace. He wasn’t sure if this was any better than fighting, because, at the end of the day, you were still upset with him.

“Mistress?” Viktor whispered, trying to tuck himself under your arm. Nothing. Your breathing remained steady even as he wormed his way onto your lap, twisting this way and that in his search for a comfortable position. After a minute of hapless squirming, Viktor settled for leaning against your stomach, head tilted into the crook of your neck.

Without the storm of your anger, there was nothing to distract Viktor from the guilt bubbling beneath his skin. Though a part of him insisted that having you beside him was more than enough, it was impossible for Viktor to ignore the _wrongness_ of seeing you silent and bound. In any other situation, he would’ve been the one in handcuffs, and the irony of the present arrangement did not escape him.

Viktor whimpered as you remained unresponsive, nudging your chin with the top of his head in an effort to garner your attention. Despite being close enough to listen to it beat, Viktor had never felt further from your heart. This wasn’t good, and he didn’t like this.

He didn’t like this at all. 

He didn’t like the tightness in his chest, or the blankness in your face. He didn’t like the suffocating silence. He didn’t like how it felt as if you were growing further and further away, despite being chained down. He didn’t like the nagging voice berating him in his head, telling him how this was _wrong_ and _bad_ (he didn’t like that it sounded too much like you). He didn’t like the way he seemed to be spiraling again, even though you were _right here_. He didn’t like it, because he knew it was wrong.

Fuck. _Fuck_. 

Viktor already knew how this would end—as he lay, listening to your heart beat, he could feel his own heart drum out a percussive line to the dissonance singing through his body. No matter how desperately he may have wanted to fool himself, the immorality of the situation at hand seemed inescapable. He had fucked up. He had fucked up _bad_.

On reflex alone, Viktor turned to you for reassurance, balling your shirt up in his fists. He buried his face in your chest as his head spun, his instincts screaming at him in a thousand piercing voices, pulling him a thousand different directions. His voice cracked. “Mistress, _please_. Aren’t—Aren’t you mad at me? Don’t you wanna be mad at me? Please, Mistress! I—I need you to say it. I deserve it! Mistress, I don’t like you being quiet like this. I don’t like it. I want… I want you to talk to me. I’m scared! I’m sorry! Mistress, please!”

His cries fell upon deaf ears, his words breaking the silence but failing at your impassive shell. Your face remained calm, your breathing even, your eyelids shut. You were dead to the world, it seemed, and not even the heartbreak of your boy could rouse you. 

Time trickled on as Viktor continued to plead for forgiveness, slipping away like water past the stones in a stream. Perhaps it would wash you away one day, wearing you down until you were reduced to silt on your own bed. Minutes passed as Viktor rambled on, his words bringing to life the scattered thoughts scourging his brain. 

However, no light can keep the darkness at bay forever, and, sure enough, Viktor’s desperate attempt to ward off his conscience began to falter. Soon, his stream of words lapsed into silence, lips growing still as his throat ran dry. What else could he talk about? Quickly, quickly. Talking about his day would be mundane, and he’d already apologized a thousand times over, and you _must_ have forgiven him, you weren’t even trying to push him away, and—

 _This was wrong_.

There was no other way to put it. There was no comfort in your arms when your arms were bound and no relief in your words when your tone was heavy with disappointment. And now you weren’t talking at all. You wouldn’t talk again until he was “thinking clearly,” and Viktor dreaded the outcome that doing so would force him to face.

However badly he wanted to avoid the scathing voice of reason demanding that he rectify his mistakes, the all-encompassing silence seemed to suffocate any wayward thought, leaving only an unsettled sense of disarray to keep him company. It was lonely, sitting here with you. It was lonely and horrible and wrong, cuddled into your side when you were bound and bereaved and _trapped_. 

Fuck.

Viktor pulled himself apart from your motionless body, biting back a choking sob as he broke away. As he turned to slip off the bed, he caught the slightest flutter of your eyelids in the corner of his vision. His heart twisted in his chest as he let you fall out of his line of sight. It squeezed once more as his gaze ghosted over the collar he’d abandoned atop the dresser.

It wouldn’t matter if he had it around his neck, anyway. As long as you were unwilling, he would never truly be yours, collared or not. Even so, Viktor hesitated, fingers trembling as he hovered over the collar as he snuck a look over his shoulder.

You hadn’t moved, as still as if you remained locked in a dream somewhere far away from this place. If not for the color in your cheeks, you looked no different from a fresh corpse. Cringing at the thought, Viktor suddenly found it far easier to move his hand past the collar and toward a small silver key. 

The metal seemed to burn against his palm, warm with a power that Viktor knew should only ever belong to you, but he knew better than to set it back down. As if bearing an explosive device, he carefully tightened his grip around the key and turned to face you, frowning as a familiar unease made itself known to him once more. 

_Maybe you should keep her here a little longer. Just until she promises not to leave._ But she wouldn’t make a promise like that, not to someone who tried to chain her down like this. _She’ll leave if you let her go, and she’ll never come back. She could never forgive someone like you, anyway._ But… it was wrong, even if she never wants to forgive… _But she’ll be gone, and you’ll be all alone, just a pathetic fucking loser who let the love of his life slip right past him. She’ll be gone, forever. You’ll be alone again. Could you live like that?_

Could he live like that?

Viktor paused before the bed, fingers shifting uncomfortably around the key. He didn’t want to be alone; that much was true. Even more distressing was the thought of your permanent absence—could he even _function_ without you anymore? Trying to imagine a day without your hands in his hair, your eyes on his face, your lips on his cheek… Viktor shuddered at the thought. There couldn’t be anything worse than that.

If you were going to hate him either way… Viktor’s face soured as he opened his fingers, brows furrowing as the key glinted in his palm. He toyed with the idea of tossing it aside, kicking it under the bed, and telling you he’d lost the key. You’d sigh and reassure him that you still cared for him, you’d offer him a smile as you listed places to check for the key.

And then he’d hesitate to check beneath the bed, and your face would crumple, catching on to his fabrications.You would spit out your disappointment like overworked gum and clamp your mouth shut, this time for good. Only then, Viktor realized, would he be truly and inconsolably alone. revelation, Viktor clambered onto the bed, pitching forward as the bed dipped beneath him. The uneven edges of the key cut into the soft flesh of his fingers, a painful reminder of the power he had forcibly, selfishly taken for himself. Viktor’s fingers trembled as he brought the key closer to your cuffs, cringing as the sound of metal scratching against metal.

With a definitive click, the key slotted into place, sending a shudder of relief down Viktor’s spine. Moving quickly, he freed you from the handcuffs, tossing them aside as he stared hopefully at your back. Perhaps, now that he had complied, you would speak to him? He dared not move, holding his breath as you shifted your arms experimentally. Though he knew he was far from deserving, Viktor prayed that you would be forgiving. The bed creaked as you sat up, rolling your wrists as you shifted. He longed to reach out and touch your arm, plead for forgiveness, bury himself in your warmth… 

You dropped your hands into your lap, back still facing him. He was nearly vibrating with want, barely able to contain his anxiety. Surely this was enough to convince you of the clarity of his thoughts—surely you would speak to him now? 

His hopes began to fall as the silence stretched on, settling slowly into his gut like sand through the waist of an hourglass. Dreading your reaction, Viktor softly cleared his throat. “Are… Are you still angry with me?”

Viktor’s voice was small, but in the silence of the small room, it seemed to ring out like the shrilling of a broken clarinet. Though you couldn’t see him, you could easily imagine him cringing at the sound of his own voice. You sighed. At this point, you couldn’t be bothered to yell any more. At the sound of Viktor’s quiet sniffling, you turned to face him, withholding a slew of admonishments. 

Your criticisms died upon your tongue as you came face-to-face with the top of Viktor’s head. The boy failed to realize that you had turned around, as he had tucked his face into his knees in a sorry attempt to muffle his hiccuping cries. 

“Viktor, what _happened_ today?” you asked, sounding more tired than anything else. Viktor started at the sound of your voice, head snapping up in an instant. He rocked forward onto his knees, twisting his hands in his lap. It took a moment for your words to fully register, but the surprise on his face quickly crumpled as he wilted.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Viktor's voice cracked as he whimpered your name. He shook his head as he cast his gaze to the side, still fidgeting with the key in his hands. His voice dropped in volume, barely louder than a whisper. “I… I think I need help.”

You nodded, a growing lump preventing your words from leaving your throat. Viktor flinched as you reached out to cover his hand with your own, happily allowing you to repossess the key as your fingers slid under his palm to take it. Silence fell upon the room once more, but it was a far easier silence than any that had preceded it. It lasted only half a minute before Viktor spoke out again, voice even softer than it had been the first time. “I think I need help.”

“Yeah,” you managed, pulling back to examine the key now resting between your fingers. You tucked it underneath your pillow, feeling no small amount of relief when you could no longer feel the key against your fingertips. Your eyes met his. “Yeah, Viktor. Let’s talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you guys have other ideas about any of the Nightfall boys, please suggest them to me. I may write more.


End file.
